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' ,*>JY??^-. ■* 























The 

Commercial 

Nomad 


By BOB TAYLOR 




Buy it, or thin£. 


A ^rin on mry pagt. 














THE 

COMMERCIAL 

NOMAD 

The Humor, Sentiment and Philosophy 
of a Travelling Man. 

BY 

BOB TAYLOR 


Copyright November, 1910, and Published by 


R. J. TAYLOR 

BROOKLYN, N. Y. 


On sale at news-stands and on trains, or direct from the distributor, 

A. G. Robinson, 17 Myrtle St., Malden, Mass. 


Price 25 cents. 




©Cl, A 275787 













/ 6, rf 
















4 

* 




: . 
































































































-4 Intit©duGti©n k- 


To Drummers, Commercial Travellers and 
Ambassadors of Trade: 




OME of my friends insist that I 
am a poet and suggest that if I 
had been born in Shakespeare’s 
time, Bill never would have be¬ 
come famous. 

Others pay me a dubious com¬ 
pliment by saying that there is 
more truth than poetry in what 
I write; still others that I have the meat 
at the expense of the metre. 

However these things may be, if the 
stuff I turn out is poetry, then I have dis¬ 
covered the immortal secret of why a poet 
wears long hair. There’s not enough in it 
to pay the price of a hair cut. 

Here’s hoping you fellows will cough 
up enough to pay the publisher’s bill. 







3 







THE DRUMMER’S PHILOSOPHY 


The average travelling salesman of to-day is a man who has acquired his 
education in the school of adversity and hard knocks. Most of us can stand 
a day or so of no business—commonly called a skunk—and take it cheerfully, 
but let that day or so extend to three or four and his philosophical smile 
will change into a sickly sort of grin. The following incident happened to 
me in February of “the panic” in a little town in Tennessee, just as I was 
reaching the sickly grin stage. I should explain that the mule’s victim is 
a New York salesman, a fine fellow, a popular member of the U. C. T., and 
to-day a personal friend of mine. I have to apologize to him for putting 
him in the Tennessee idiom. 


Ever get disgusted, neighbor, 

With conditions generally? 

Here’s a little object lesson, 
Happened down in Tennessee. 

Scene: a dead old-fashioned hamlet— 
You all know the kind I mean, 
Where the chief illuminating 
Is all done with kerosene. 

Where hotel accommodations 
Are but relics of the past, 

And you find but small protection 
From the Winter’s biting blast. 

Where the grub is everlasting, 
Indigestible and tough, 

By the time you’ve chewed a mouth¬ 
ful, 

You’ve decided that’s enough. 


It was dark—just black as midnight, 
When I hit that little town, 

And the wind was wildly howling, 
While the rain came pouring down. 

Underfoot the mud was frightful. 
Slimy, sloppy, slushy, cold, 

And I longed for home and dear; 
ones. 

With a longing that’s untold. 

Times were hard and getting harder, 
Nothing doing anywhere, 

Prospect looked reverse of cheerful, 
Like a dismal, grim nightmare. 

My vocabulary’s useless 
For the picture I would paint, 

’Twas a trying situation 
For the temper of a saint. 


4 




I was blue and getting bluer 
As I walked to that hotel, 

Which looked almost as inviting 
As a gloomy prison cell. 

There I met a sight that thrilled me, 
Fascinated, held me fast, 

I forgot my little troubles 
They dissolved, vamoosed and 
passed. 

A dilapidated looking 
Person opened wide the door, 
Bandaged up in ghastly fashion, 
Thought he’d been through some 
great war. 

He looked tough and well he knew it, 
Knew his features were a joke, 
Knew that I could not admire him, 
Caught my curious look and spoke. 

"That thar’ bandage, stranger, covers 
Up the scars of a great duel, 

Got ’em in a disputation, 

With the hind part of a mule. 

A right smart cantankerous critter, 

A great kicker and a biter, 

Had a local reputation 
Among mules as a prize-fighter. 

Seemed to me he didn’t fancy 
My personal appearance 
From the start, and failed to hanker 
For more intimate acquaintance. 

Things kep’ growing worse and 
worser, 

I jest knowed the time would come 
When I’d give that mule the licking 
He deserved, but say! by gum! 


’Stead of him ’twas me that got it, 
And he soaked me mighty bad, 
Smashed my nose and broke my jaw 
bone, 

What a kick that fool mule had, 

Thought I’d had my share of mis’ry 
Long ’afore I got that lick, 

But a fellow don’t know trouble 
Till he gets a good mule’s kick. 

You ain’t none too cheerful.stranger, 
’Pears to me, you’re looking blue 
Up agenst it ? well! that’s nothing, 
Son, thar’ ain’t no mule kicked you.” 

I admitted that my troubles 
Were but small and I could see 
That like other human beings 
I’d been kicking thoughtlessly. 

Kicking just from force of habit 
For quite frequently I find 
Trouble merely superficial, 

Just existing in the mind. 

Seemed to me I’d been complaining 
Without cause, and there I vowed 
I would seek the silver lining 
That exists in every cloud. 

I grinned broadly as I left him, 
Grinned because his words were true, 
Now I echo when despondent, 

"Son, thar’ ain’t no mule kicked you.” 

When you think your tribulations 
So much greater than your neighbor’s 
Look around, you’ll stop your whin¬ 
ing 

And be satisfied with your’s. 


5 


THE DRUMMER’S READY LETTER WRITER 


I started travelling about fourteen years ago, and in that time I have 
had a considerably varied experience with quite a number of different houses. j 
One question that frequently mystified me was why so many different firms j 
selected a man for sales manager who was absolutely ignorant of the game, j 
and who knew so little about actual sales that he couldn’t graduate in a 
kindergarten class of salesmanship. I have worked under a number of those 
and have received a number of fool letters that I have answered to the best; 
of my ability. I submit a few illustrations and agree to waive the copyright I 
on any of them to any salesman who cares to use them in correspondence 
with his house. At one time I found myself in Bangor, Maine, and expected 
in about ten days’ time to make a trip to Canada, so I wrote for a check to 
be sent me to Portland. Here’s the gem I received in reply to my letter: 

Dear Sir:— 

Just received your letter from Bangor, Me., in which you state that your 
address will be Portland till April 17th. You wrote your letter on the 19th. 
This is twist number one; you seem to be twisted so much that we are un¬ 
able to get at the meaning of your remarks with the combined help of all 
the large heads in the place. 

Yours very truly. 

Now, granted I had made an error in my dates, he knew his letter would 
reach me, and if it did then why wouldn’t I have received the check also, 
but the chump had failed to enclose it. No initials on it, but I surmised at 
once who had written it and replied as follows: 

Dear Sir:— 

Just received a brilliant sarcastic letter, no initials as to who dictated it, 
but I presume it was a creation of your wonderful mind, for surely any one 
—whose travelling experience extended beyond a daily trip to Brooklyn and 


6 




back—would understand and appreciate the difficulty of cashing a check when 
in strange territory. Is it any wonder that the average stenographer has a 
weary look and that her life is short when she has to write such a lot of rot 
as I received, when you could have dispensed with it all by sending a sensible 
check? My address will be Concord, N. H., till the 30th. 

Yours very truly. 

I received my check at Concord with no superfluous inanities attached. 

Another manager told me that I wrote the most insulting letters that 
they received from any of their men. I told him the easiest way to dispose 
of that would be to stop writing himself, and then he wouldn’t put me to the 
painful necessity of writing back again; just let me know any time my work 
proved unsatisfactory, and I wouldn’t worry them an extra minute, because, 
I said, if you write me some foolish advice or indulge in unnecessary criticism, 
and I receive your letter at a time when my liver is sluggish and I have a 
dark brown taste in my mouth, you will surely hear from me. One time he 
wrote, “Your incidental account is altogether too high and we want it item¬ 
ized more carefully.” I replied: 

Dear Sir:— 

The chief item in my incidental account is cigars. I find I can do much 
more effective work while chewing on the butt of a “five” and enviously 
watching the other fellow spoil the look of a “ten,” than I can do in any 
other manner. 

Yours very truly. 

At another time he sent me a lot of little blanks to fill in, on which I 
was to make notes concerning every man I called on. I replied briefly that 
life was altogether too short. He wrote again, “We would like to have you 
fill in these blanks, all our other men are doing it, and we know of no reason 
that would justify us in excusing you.” I replied, “Josh Billings said ‘A man 
wot kan ware a paper kollar fore a hole week and keep it klean ain’t good 
for nuthin’ else.’ You probably have some stars at filling in blank reports, 
how about the orders they get for you ?” 


7 


He came back again, “We’d still like you to fill in these blanks.” This 
time I answered at length as follows:— 

Dear Sir:— 

Some of the large red-tape corporations insist upon these daily reports, 
but you’d meet a whole lot of their men before you would pick out a sales¬ 
man. I can imagine one of these fellows receiving an answer to his daily 
report, it would probably read as follows:— 

Dear Sir:— 

We have your letter of the 12th before us. We notice it was mailed at 
8 P. M., which seems to indicate to us you must have quit work quite early 
that night. You got up at 6 . 30 , took your monthly bath, had your semi¬ 
weekly shave, breakfasted, and started in plugging for us at 8.30. Would it 
net be to our mutual advantage for you to start in at half-past seven? We 
think you could be of service to your prospective customer, in opening his 
mail or helping the nigger to sweep up. We have you spotted up to 12.15, 
and land on you again at 12.45, but what the dickens were you doing in the 
meantime? If this was your lunch time we would suggest that you devote 
considerably less time to it, as half an hour in the middle of the day is alto¬ 
gether too much time to take up over such a trivial thing as eating. You were 
a nickel short in your expense report for week ending the 8th. We are in¬ 
clined to think that you are taking advantage of our laxity in this department 
and that you squandered that five cents on your weekly chewing gum, al¬ 
though you are well aware that we cut out that item at our last quarterly 
meeting. We have this nickel charged up to you at six per cent. We notice 
you only sold a thousand dollars yesterday; is there any reason why this 
should not have been fifteen hundred? Trusting that in the future your 
orders will be larger, and that you will not waste too much of the firm’s 
time in sleep. We remain, 

Yours very truly. 

(Then I wound up my letter with) 


8 


Trusting this will find you in a perfect state of health, and continually 
adding to your little pile of wealth. I remain, 

Yours very truly. 


R. J. Taylor. 

Then the boss came in; he was a pretty good fellow, and a pretty good 
letter writer. He came back at me with: 


In the limited time at the writer’s disposal, I manage to read between the 
lines of your long letter an emphatic refusal to fill in blank reports, and your 
refusal is duly registered; but it seems to us—in the length of time it must 
necessarily take you to write these lengthy epistles—you could easily find 
time to fill in these insignificant blanks of ours. 

Yours very truly. 

The Pearline people wrote their salesman to go to the town of Texline, a 
small place on the border of Texas and New Mexico. He didn’t want to go, 
and tried to get out of the trip, but they insisted and he went. This is the 
style of letter he is reported to have written: 

Gentlemen:— 

At your suggestion I went to the town of Texline. I found there a 
barnlike structure—an apology for a hotel—with an old black cat with tears 
in his eyes sitting on the stoop, two stores, seven saloons, and eight wind¬ 
mills. The windmills were doing all the business. I have now cut out 
Texline. 

Yours very truly. 

The following is credited to a Fairbank’s man. 

It seems they sent one of their best men to work in Texas. He fell off 
the water wagon, and did his best to deplete the saloons of their stock of 
liquor. Fairbanks heard nothing from him for several days. Being a 
valuable man, they didn’t like to roast him, but they finally wired him: 

“K-, are you working?” and he wired back, “No, let the Gold Dust 

Twins do your work.” 

A salesman travelling for the leading fountain pen manufacturers went 
astray in Memphis, Tenn. Literally he went on a jag and kept it up for a 
week. They finally lost all patience with him and telegraphed him to ship 
his samples back at once. He wired back, “How can I do any business 
without my samples?” 


9 


THE END OF THE TRIP 


No explanation of the following will be necessary to the salesman ac¬ 
customed to long trips. For the benefit of the others, though, I will explain 
that towards the end of a three or four months’ trip the man with any home 
ties at all gets nervous, restless and anxious to get home again. He figures 
up very carefully some seven or eight towns that he feels morally bound 
to make in winding up his trip. As he draws near the first one, he says to 
himself, “Well, I never did get much business in that town anyway, I believe 
I’ll cut it out.” He does, works about three of the important towns he had 
decided on and jumps home. Towards the end of a seventeen weeks’ trip 
I picked up a souvenir card illustrating a fellow on horseback, with the 
words, “Watch me on the home stretch.” It suggested the following, which 
I wrote on the back and mailed to my wife. 


Watch me on the home stretch 
Boys, I’m going home, 

Troubles all behind me, 

No more this trip I’ll roam. 


Don’t talk to me of business 
Or hard luck yet to come, 

I’ve just one thought—I’m thinking 
Of the wife and kid at home. 


Go through your stock of phrases, 
And fine adjectives—there’s none 
To describe the inner feelings 
Of the drummer going home. 



Just one things interests me, 

It’s an all absorbing one, 

But I hardly think you’ll blame me; 
Just think—I’m going home. 


io 




SOLILOQUY 

(On a tough week’s work.) 


Well! I don’t know! 

I used to think 

That I knew all there was to know 
About this game of selling goods; 

But lately, say! 

The painful way 

In which they’ve turned me down 

Is most monotonous— 

I’ve worried heaps, 

And fancy now 

I’m down and out for keeps. 

I know that worrying’s useless, 

And I know 

If I indulge in such a senseless pastime 
I’ll lose my sleep, 

And p’raps I’ll weep 
Like any two year old. 

I must admit 
That times are bad, 

Still, I don’t get my share of what there is 
It seems to me, 

And I can see 
That everybody knows 
I’ve lost my grit, 

I’d better quit, 

I’ve joined the D. and O’s. 

Yet after all 

Perhaps the best thing I can do 
Is just to keep a good stiff upper lip 
And leave all worrying to the boss; 

For surely I 

Can stand it if he can, 

So now I’ll try 
To be a man 

Again, and once again begin 
To meet these troubles 
With my old-time grin. 


ii 


DOUBLING UP 


No travelling salesman requires an explanation of the above title. Two 
beds in a room, reduced accommodation, but never a reduction in price. 

It’s an imposition that we cannot help, and seems to be a little game 
that is altogether too frequently worked. A friend related a little experience 
of his to me only the other day as follows:—“I found myself in a small town 
in South Carolina recently where the hotel was crowded. A bunch of us 
fellows stood at the desk waiting for our rooms, only to be told the place 
was full and there was nothing left but double rooms. 

“I was a stranger to the boys; they paired off together, and I drew a 
tough looking guy for mine. Coarse hair, dirty in appearance, a regular thug 
to look at him, and he had me nervous. When we reached our room I 
tried to size up the situation, because on closer acquaintance he didn’t seem 
to improve a little bit. 

“I asked him what business he happened to be engaged in, and he 
replied, ‘I’m not in business, my friend.’ 

“Then I thought he might be a gambler or professional crook. Tried him 
again, and then brought out the information that he was studying for the 
ministry at the little hamlet of Due West. He brought out his Bible, read 
for a while and said his prayers. I went to sleep and slept like a lamb.” 

I landed in a town in New Mexico one night only to find the hotel crowded 
and nothing left but double rooms. I told the proprietor that I didn’t like 
the look of the crowd, cowboys, ranchmen and so forth, and that I wouldn’t 
double with any of ’em, but would go to the other hotel (both of them good 
ones). I knew him pretty well, and he replied, “Oh! don’t throw me down, 
Taylor, I can’t help it; pick out somebody and help me out; there’s a man 
from New York right behind you.” Well, I sized him up; he looked all 
right and we went to our room. It seemed my partner had had a long ride 


12 



and wanted to take a bath, but when he inquired for a bath room the pro¬ 
prietor informed him that the only bath tub in the house was in number 
twenty-seven; the occupant of that room had retired, but he would call him 
for his bath early in the morning. He did, next morning at dawn; it was a 
raw, cold morning, just light enough to see it snowing outside, when with a 
rap at the door somebody announced that my friend’s bath was ready. He 
jumped out of bed, got hurriedly into his clothes and accompanied his guide 
to room number twenty-seven. In a few minutes he was back again, filling 
the air with anathema. He got off a few exclamations, interjections and 
expletives, and then, when cooled off a little—and it didn’t take long in that 
cold room—he proceeded to explain. “Now what do you think that son of a 
gun did? Pulled me out of bed on a cold morning like this, took me to 
twenty-seven, said ‘Here’s the bath room, sir,’ walked away, came tiptoeing 
back and said, ‘I forgot to tell you there was no hot water.’ I told him that 
was all right, I’d take a cold bath. He walked away, and while I was still 
fumbling with the lock tiptoed back again and whispered, ‘I forgot to tell you 

there is no cold water, sir.’ Now, what the-” 

I saw a funny stunt only this trip in Del Rio, Texas. A travelling man 
came into the hotel office, made a few mystic passes at a chair with his hat, 
and the inanimate thing hopped across the room in any direction he indicated 
—following his hat—in the most grotesque and laughable manner. Don’t ask 
me how he did it; I didn’t get next to the trick. He said that on one 
occasion he landed in a hotel only to find it crowded, nothing left but a 
double room, with one occupant already in it. He went to the room, and 
the other fellow half rose in his bed with the remark, “Well, it’s a long time 
since you and I had the same room together, isn’t it?” He replied, “Yes! I 
don’t know whether I’m going to sleep in the same room with you or not, 
but I’ll soon find out. This chair will reveal it: if you’re all right it will 
come towards me.” It did, and he said, “Well, you’re all right, we can share 
the same room together.” The other fellow stared wild eyed for a minute, 
got up, grabbed his clothes and remarked, “Well, sport, it might be all right 
for you, but I’m a sun of a gun if this is a healthy place for me.” He then 
left the room and bunked all night on the veranda. 


13 




THE TRAVELING MAN 


— 

“The Travelling Man” was suggested to me by the numerous suspicious 
people who are so prone to criticise others. The most ignorant can criticise 
and criticism is frequently the sign of ignorance. 

« 


You speak of the traveling man with a sneer, 

And discuss all his faults pro and con. 

You’re only too willing to listen, I fear, 

T o gossip of mischievous tongue, 

With a low whisper here, and a grin there, alas! 

She’s a vicious, malicious old dame, 

For people who live in houses of glass, 

Throwing stones is a dangerous game. 

She insinuates things that have venomous stings. 
But are sadly lacking in truth, 

With countenance grim and a bearing that’s prim, 
She will talk of the follies of youth; 

And the sailor—a wife in each port on the shore— 
But he’s not half as bad as he’s painted, 

For with one black sheep in a thousand or more, 
Would you call the whole flock tainted? 

With chuckles of glee, all his faults she will see. 

But never a virtue detect, 

With clear demonstration, by her calculation. 

She’s certainly of the elect. 

With suggestion that’s sly, hypocritical sigh 
And many a dismal groan, 

She’ll discover the mote in her brother’s eye, 

But will miss the beam in her own. 


14 




You’ve heard of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, 

H ow she tried to tempt him to sin, 

It happened but once to Joe in his life, 

But with us it’s the usual thing. 

In remote days of old—in the Book we are told— 
One who battled through life all alone; 

Who knew human nature, invited the pure 

To come forward and cast the first stone. 

You remember the sequel, none there yiuved equal, 
And none qualified for the test, 

And he of the clan of the travelling man 
Will average up with the best. 



Some fellows resent the appellation “Drummer,” think it is not dignified 
enough and would much prefer being called “Commercial Traveller.” Per¬ 
sonally—if they’ll only give me the business—I’m very indifferent as to 
what they call me, but there are two classes and I have noticed a distinct 
difference. The “Drummer” eats with his knife. 

My personal definition of a commercial traveller is that he is a thick¬ 
headed idiot, who has so little sense that he is unable to make a decent 
living at home, and so he travels for it. Don’t contradict me, I know from 
personal experience; ninety-nine out of a hundred of us would quit travelling 
if we could, but the prospect of smoking nothing but cheap cigars never 
did appeal to me. 


15 



THE TRAVELING MAN 


“The Travelling Man” was suggested to me by the numerous suspiciou: 
people who are so prone to criticise others. The most ignorant can criticise 
and criticism is frequently the sign of ignorance. 


You speak of the traveling man with a sneer, 

And discuss all his faults pro and con. 

You’re only too willing to listen, I fear, 

T o gossip of mischievous tongue, 

With a low whisper here, and a grin there, alas! 

She’s a vicious, malicious old dame, 

For people who live in houses of glass, 

Throwing stones is a dangerous game. 

She insinuates things that have venomous stings. 
But are sadly lacking in truth, 

With countenance grim and a bearing that’s prim, 
She w r ill talk of the follies of youth; 

And the sailor—a wife in each port on the shore— 
But he’s not half as bad as he’s painted, 

For with one black sheep in a thousand or more, 
Would you call the whole flock tainted? 

With chuckles of glee, all his faults she will see. 

But never a virtue detect, 

With clear demonstration, by her calculation. 

She’s certainly of the elect. 

With suggestion that’s sly, hypocritical sigh 
And many a dismal groan, 

She’ll discover the mote in her brother’s eye, 

But will miss the beam in her own. 


14 







You’ve heard of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, 

H ow she tried to tempt him to sin, 

It happened but once to Joe in his life, 

But with us it’s the usual thing. 

In remote days of old—in the Book we are told— 
One who battled through life all alone; 

Who knew human nature, invited the pure 

To come forward and cast the first stone. 

You remember the sequel, none there pioVed equal, 
And none qualified for the test, 

And he of the clan of the travelling man 
Will average up with the best. 



Some fellows resent the appellation “Drummer,” think it is not dignified 
enough and would much prefer being called “Commercial Traveller.” Per¬ 
sonally—if they’ll only give me the business—I’m very indifferent as to 
what they call me, but there are two classes and I have noticed a distinct 
difference. The “Drummer” eats with his knife. 

My personal definition of a commercial traveller is that he is a thick¬ 
headed idiot, who has so little sense that he is unable to make a decent 
living at home, and so he travels for it. Don’t contradict me, I know from 
personal experience; ninety-nine out of a hundred of us would quit travelling 
if we could, but the prospect of smoking nothing but cheap cigars never 
did appeal to me. 


15 



SELLING GOODS IN ENGLAND 


About twelve years ago I had my first experience in England as ; 
“Commercial.” There are no “Drummers” over there they are all “Com 
mercials.” 

I went over on a vacation and met R. H. Ingersoll of dollar watch farm 
in London. He told me he had just made an arrangement with a Germar 
commission agent to introduce his watches in England, and suggested as ] 
had a thorough knowledge of the line, that I should work there for a couple 
of months. The German nearly had a fit when he heard the salary I sug¬ 
gested, it seemed that ten dollars a week was considered very fair pay 
We finally made a deal by which I was to draw a salary satisfactory tc 
me, and also have a bonus commission allowance on the goods sold. The 
German suggested that I wear a silk hat and Prince Albert coat, such as 
their regular men wore, but I reneged at that, told him I objected to making 
a guy of myself, and as I was very indifferent about the job he soon gave in 
He seemed to think that it would be to my advantage to be introducec 
to the City trade by their regular City salesman. 

I told him I had no objection, provided that he behaved himself, so w< 
started out together. My companion was a work of art, silk hat and so forth 
he was faultlessly arrayed, reminded me of the pictures we see in tailor ’, 1 
advertisements, but so seldom see in real life. He was simply immaculate, 
almo- t forgot he was only a salesman, and thought I must look like a porte: 
carrying his sample case. 

At that stage of the game I had only had about three years’ experience 
I was looking for all the knowledge I could get, and invariably watched th 
methods and address of the different men with whom I came in contact 
Apparelled as he was, I expected he would prove to be a star salesman, an 
hoped I’d be able to learn something from him, but what a disappointment 


16 



He would walk into a store, make a most elaborate bow, and present his 
card to the buyer, invariably with the words: “Ah ! good morning, sir, 1 re¬ 
present Miller & Co. sir.” The buyer would reply: 

“Oh ! you do ? Well! we won’t want anything today.” 

“All right sir, good day, sir,” and he was gone, sir. 

He could write out a mail order all right, and his very presence might 
suggest a man’s wants to him, as for instance; one morning a merchant asked 
him the price of a thousand gross of tea spoons. He gave him the figure, 
and the dealer told him to ship them. 

Phlegmatic in temperament, he wrote the order down, as though it 
had’nt got the slightest interest to him, order or no order, he would get his 
little two pounds at the end of the week and there his interest began and 
ended. 

I found later that his system was all according to Hoyle. The other 
salesmen I met all had the same stereotyped line of talk, just order takers, 
they seemed to have very little idea of salesmanship, or creating a demand 
where none had existed. My chief business was to introduce the famous 
dollar watch in that country. At that time, it was neither famous nor much 
of a watch. It was as big as the top of a tea cup, and looked like a coat 
pocket edition of an alarm clock, but evolution has improved it so that to-day 
it is a staple commodity and an easy seller. It was anything but an easy 
seller in those days, however, and to help pay expenses I had with me a 
line of Yankee notions. A dollar typewriter, toy sewing machine, small 
electric battery and so forth. Everything sold all right but the typewriter, 
and that proved to be a sticker. It acted in the most perverse manner, 
one day it would work all right, and on the day following no amount of 
persuasion could induce it to print half a dozen letters in their proper 
sequence. One day my employer remarked, “Bob, I wish you’d sell those 
typewriters to somebody; we’ve only got a gross of them here, but it looks 
as though we’ll have to pay freight on the lot back to America.” 

I told him I would sell them to somebody, but I walked all over London 


17 


with the thing under my arm for two weeks and didn’t sell half a dozen. 
One morning it proved to be in a good humor: worked all right that* day, 
and I was lucky enough to call on the right man with it, a merchant on 
Clerkenwell Road. After a little demonstration he enthused over it con- 
siderably and said he would like to buy them, but objected to having to buy 
them through our commission agent. I replied, “If you want to buy our 
watches you’ll have to buy them through him. This is an outside line he 
has no control over, but the only way for you to buy them direct is to take 
the sole agency for them yourself.” 

“Well, how many would I have to tyke?” 

“You give me an order for two thousand of them at fifty cents each and; 
I’ll give you the agency for Great Britain for six months.” I’d have in¬ 
cluded Timbuctoo, the Fiji Islands, and the territory adjoining the Zambesi 
River, making the time six years if necessary, but I didn’t tell him that. 

He seemed to be afraid of the quantity, and wanted a lower price, but 
I wouldn’t budge, and after a couple of days’ consideration he gave me 
an order for two thousand at fifty cents each. 

Seven years afterwards I strolled into his store and shook hands with 
him, but I could see he had forgotten me. While he was trying to place 
me, I said: 

“Well, old man, do you want any more dollar typewriters?” 

Then he woke up. 

“For ’eaven’s syke, don’t say typewriters to me, old chap; the lawst 
one of those bloomin’ things went a few weeks ago.” 

For once I had broken a rule of mine never to overstock a man, as 
they had apparently lasted him seven years. 

One day I suggested to the boss that if we could interest a certain party 
in the North of England—a very large advertiser—with the watches, and sell 
him, we would connect with the most desirable party in the country. We 
sent him some samples, but they were returned with the laronic note: 

“Altogether too large for our trade.” 


18 




It was suggested that I take the train, run up to Manchester, and have 
a personal interview with him. I agreed, but before I left London I found 
that he had the reputation of being an awful crank, fraternizing with other 
salesmen on the train they corroborated w r hat I had heard of him, and when 
I finally got to Manchester, the clerk in his own office volunteered the same 
information. I sent in my card, and he returned it, condescending to see me 
at half-past eleven. I strolled into his office to find him seated at a roll top 
desk. He spun around in his swivel chair, glared at me, then roared out: 

“Well! you represent Ingersoll, what do you want with me ?” 

I looked at him for half a minute, and then I shouted back, 

“Well ! I want to sell you a bill of watches.” 

He looked as though I had hit him with a brick, and then—very mildly 
—asked me to be seated. 

That was all I wanted, a chance to talk, I had a spiel on those watches 
that would interest a Hottentot, and I knew that he w T as interested in the fool 
of a salesman who lacked appreciation of his dignity as a buyer. 

I started in with my talk, watching him closely, and he listened m the 
most attentive manner for ten or fifteen minutes, then he butted in. 

“But the watch is too big for me, sir.” 

“It’s the greatest watch on earth for a boy.” 

“Oh no, it’s too big for a boy.” 

“Not on your life, when I was a kid I’d have been tickled to death with 
the lid of a coffee can with works in it, and that’s not so long ago either. No 
boy would criticize a present of that kind.” 

“Well! sir, I dooa’t know much about the watch, but the salesman is a 
marvel, we’d like to get hold of a few fellows like you.” 

“Yes, you’d give me as much as two pounds a week, would’nt you?” 

I proved to be a poor salesman in his case, the best I could do was to get 
an order for samples. I could’nt blame him either, I knew the watch was 
too big at that time to be a practical seller, it was just evoluting from a 
joke as a side-line to an important article. There was nothing in his last 


19 


remark to get a big head over. Any experienced specialty man should get 
scores of similiar compliments, if he does’nt, he’s a misfit. 

I remember calling on one big concern at least a dozen times. A dozen 
times I sent my card in to an invisible buyer, and it came back again just as 
often. 

In a case of that kind, a salesman is helpless. 

The buyer for each department had a room to himself, and a boy to take 

♦ 

the business cards to him, if he sent it back again, that was all there was to 
it. One day I dropped into the office just in time to see the disappearing 
coat-tails of the man I thought I wanted. 

I called to the boy. “Is that Mr. Brown ?” 

“Yes, sir.” “Grab him quick, never mind the card.” 

The kid thought it was something special, and chased after him. Mr. 
Brown returned and I said: 

“Well ! Mr. Brown, this is my thirteenth call; every other time you have 
sent my card back again, not interested 

This card reads, ‘American specialties and novelties’ and for all you 
know I might have a world beater among them.” 

In the meantime I had opened my sample case and spread my samples 
out. He bought five gross of printing outfits, and some watches, and then 
he explained that his time was so valuable that he could’nt possibly interview 
every salesman. I told him that my time was valuable and that he would 
probably miss a number of pretty good things by being unable to grcnt a 
salesman with a new line a two minute interview. 



20 



THE DRUMMER’S VIEW OF THE SOUTH 


Never been in the Sunny South? Well! old man, you’ve missed a treat, 

I’ve wandered North and East and West, but the Sunny South is hard to beat; 
They’ve none of your cold freezing blizzards, Zero’s a stranger down there, 
They’ve mocking birds, with mosquitos too, and everything that is fair. 

Trains! did you say? Well! I guess, and beautiful service too, 

There you will find fast fliers, the kind that go right through; 

You think ten miles an hour is fast, why! some of their’s make twenty; 

Of course that’s very dangerous, and accidents are plenty. 

Many a night I have sacrificed the sleep I so sadly needed, 

And many a train I have saved from wreck on the tracks that were badly 
graded, 

Just jumped from one seat to the other, avoiding with care the hat rack, 

As I carefully balanced the rocking train, and kept it straight on the track. 

Yes! I have ridden many a time on a bumping nerve-racking freight, 

But they always give me the privilege of paying the first class rate, 

Of course they’re often six hours late, but trifles we ought not mention, 

A straw on the track might have caused the delay, or something demanding 
attention. 

Immense hotels they have down there, for Northern tourists they make ’em, 
But they’re glad to see us boys with the grip, and they’d hate to have us 
shake ’em, 

Eggs, did you say? Well! we get ’em sometimes, if the hens very fre¬ 
quently lay, 

But at twenty-five cents a dozen you see, they’re too high for three dollars 
a day. 

You’ll probably never see an egg, and the steak will be imitation, 

If you think you’ll live high for two per day, it will prove all hallucination. 
Pretty steep, three dollars a day? Well! some of ’em are two, 

But they’ll give you a room next an old back yard, and they’ll charge you 
the two for the view, 


21 



Chickens, what wonderful birds they must be, they each have forty feet, 
They’re sometimes on the bill of fare as a substitute for meat, 

And if forty hungry drummers called for a fricassee, 

They each would get a chicken’s foot, for it always happens to me. 

Sometimes you will get a scrawny neck, instead of the usual foot, 

The waiter grins as you threaten him with the pointed end of a boot, 

You relieve yourself of a few remarks as he brings a neck again, 

It might be billed as chicken, but you’re willing to bet it’s a crane. 

Some of the towns have two hotels, each of ’em duplicate, 

You think it over and try the one with the most expensive rate, 

You say some interesting things, and indulge in many a frown, 

Next trip you try the other, after that you skip the town. 

The inimitable nigger can juggle your plates in a group, 

But if you forget to hand him a tip, he’ll expectorate in the soup, 

The heat makes him sweat most profusely, with a napkin he wipes his brow, 
Then with the same cloth he wipes your plate, and hands it to you with a bowl 

Hot! Yes! I must admit it is warm down there in the good-old summer time 
But the fragrant Northern hot-house flowers grow wild in the bright sunshine 
There’s where the sweet magnolias bloom, the figs and oranges grow, 

And you save the price of a Turkish bath, for it is warm as the place below. 

But say! if you think this is rough on the South, try the frozen North 
my friend, 

There you will find a man with a heart of a rubber and leather blend, 

He’ll style your introductory words as most unlimited gall, 

And he’ll give you a hand like a fish’s tail, or refuse to shake at all. 

But for courtesy pure and simple, just give me the Southerner, 

He’ll invite you in with a pleasant smile, you’ll get a welcome there, 

He’ll give you the only seat in the store, you’ll find him sympathetic, 

If you’d win his heart for keeps, just vote the Democratic ticket. 

Several times I have tried to quit this strenuous travelling life, 

But it’s a case of smoking cheap cigars if a fellow stays home with his wife, 
We all of us feel blue sometimes; and get frequently down in the mouth; 

So if I must live a drummer’s life, just give me the Sunny South. 


22 


IN SCOTLAND 


In this cosmopolitan country of America we have to call on people of 
all nationalities, and of them all I believe the Scotchman is the hardest. 
Tackle him on his native heath and he is almost invincible. My first experi¬ 
ence was by appointment with a merchant in Edinburgh. In the first place, 
I was surprised to find such a pronounced brogue there, and for an outsider 
it .was very difficult to carry on any kind of conversation. We talked in a 
more or less intelligible manner—generally less—for about fifteen minutes, 
but his end of it sounded like a Chinese laundry check to me. In Cuba I 
had to hire an interpreter, and it looked as though I would need one in 
Scotland. That particular .man, though, wanted our goods, and it didn’t 
prove hard to take his order. 

One man asked me if I had any “wag-at-the-wa’ clocks.” What he 
wanted was a clock that would hang on the wall, with a long pendulum 
attached. 

I called on another man in the same town, and it proved anything but 
easy sailing with him. I gave him every argument I knew, favored him 
with all the eloquence at my command, strained my vocabulary, gave him 
a kindergarten exhibition of scientific salesmanship, took him through all 
the degrees, and handed him all the logic I possessed. 

It seemed to have as much effect as though I had been spending my 
time on a cigar store Indian. 

Finally I noticed what I fancied to be a gleam of interest, and when 
I landed on what seemed to me the proper psychological moment, I asked: 

“Well, how many do you want?” 

He replied, “Hoot, mon, I canna buy ’em.” 

I asked where it hurt him, and he went on to explain that he had been 
in business for twenty years. Only twice in his whole experience had he 


23 



It’s true he sees beautiful cities, 

He seems to have money galore. 

And travels the country o’er; 

The best of the land, is his to com¬ 
mand, 

His life appears very alluring 
To the clerks, to you and to me, 

But from his point of view, the towns 
he goes through, 

Are just bricks piled up differently. 


Wonderful stories he tells us, 

And many a joke does he crack, 

But when he’s alone, he thinks of his 
home, 

And wonders when he will get back. 

There’s always two sides to a story; 
We, too often, just look at one; 

It’s not always summer with our care 
free drummer, 

Nor always, by any means fun. 


Then here’s to a right, bright good 
fellow, 

A lesson from him we can learn, 
When things all go wrong—change 
the moan into song, 

And let the broad smile return. 




Going through Vicksburg, Miss., on an early morning train the other 
day I overheard the following intellectual conversation. A man and his 
wife occupied seats near me: the man was of the tobacco chewing, ex¬ 
pectorating type, the woman a tough-looking snuff chewer. He was trying 
to persuade her that that particular town was Vicksburg, but she declined 
to be convinced. 

“Well, I knows very well this is Vicksburg.” 

“Well, I knows it ain’t; if it is, what have they got them big letters up 
there fer then. EXIT?” 


26 



IN CANADA 


I found the railroads in Canada treated the travelling man with decent 
consideration, similar conditions exist in England too for that matter. 

They apparently appreciate the fact that he is a pretty liberal contributor 
to the passenger receipts, also that he supplies a considerable quantity of 
freight for them to handle, so they consider it good policy on their part to do 
business with him on a reciprocity basis. 

The salesman joins an organization costing eight dollars a year, the first 
year the card of membership he secures is worth $ 100.00 life insurance, the 
second year $ 200.00, and so on till the tenth year when it reaches $ 1000 .00 
and then the policy remains stationary. 

In buying his R. R. ticket he presents his card of membership at the 
depot window, and buys his transportation at the rate of two cents a mile. 
On Friday or Saturday,-if he wishes to spend Sunday at home—he presents 
his card, and receives a round trip ticket at one cent a mile, good returning 
Monday. In that manner the railroad gets the money he would otherwise spend 
at the hotels. Abuse of the privilege such as loaning his card to other people, 
means that he will forfeit his membership. 

In the South today I travel on probably thirty different lines in a year’s 
time, on some I spend fifty to a hundred dollars annually and, as a travelling 
salesman I get worse treatment than any other patron of the road. 

No reduced rate anywhere, the farmer making his one or two little pleas 
ure trips a year can w r ait for a periodical excursion and get a round trip ticket 
for probably one third the regular rate. That rate is of no use to me, because 
they won’t check my trunk on that ticket, so 1 travel on the same train he 
does and pay the full fare. 

When I went to Canada, I understood that an arrangement existed there, 
by which the salesman paid duty on his samples on going in, and received a 


27 



rebate for the full amount paid on his return, provided that he brought his 
original samples back intact. 

When I reached there however, I found that if they ever had such a rule, 
it had been rescinded and that I would have to pay duty on all I took in, re¬ 
ceiving nothing back again. 

I explained to the custom house official, a Frenchman, that I would like 
to take out a few of my best sellers, and leave the rest in bond. He said it 
was against their rules to do so, but finally agreed, and I paid him two or 
three dollars on what I took out. 

One of the first interviews I had was with a buyer in a large department 
store in Montreal. He started to turn me down, said the Yankee generally 
proved so slick that they usually got the best of him, and so forth. 

I finally persuaded him that there are exceptions to every rule, that I 
was one of the most innocent exceptions, that I had a few samples of my 
leaders with me and would guarantee the stock to come up to the samples. 
He gave me a nice order, bought everything I had, and then I tried to get 
him to add to it out of my catalogue. 

He would’nt buy a single thing that I could’nt produce a sample of, 
and although I went into considerable detail regarding the wonders of a 
cyclometer that had recently been placed on the market, he would’nt buy, 
said he might if he could see the sample. 

I returned to the custom house, got the cyclometer without much 
trouble, and sold him. 

Shortly afterwards I interested a man in some pocket compasses but he 
would’nt buy without samples either. I returned to the custom-house, antici¬ 
pating trouble and I was not disappointed. 

The Frenchman lost his patience, became excited, and paced the room in 
considerable agitation. 

“First you come, and you want zee pump, bell, saddle, and a whole lot of 
other sings, zen you come back and you want zee cyclom; and now you 
want zee compass. I’ll send it all over to zee bond warehouse and you can 


28 


feex it with them. ” 

“Well!” I replied, “sit down and don’t get rattled over it, it’s only a little 
thing and not worth fussing over. Say ! this is a pretty nice town you’ve got 
here, is’nt it?” 

“Yes, lofly town, before you leave you must go to zee top of Mt. Tom, 
zee view is grand from there.” 

“All right, I will. Sit down. Have a cigar?” 

“Merci, monsieur.” 

I’m not in love with the Canadian cigar, but a few whiffs of the one I 
handed him produced an ecstatic smile. 

“Say ! I feex that for you, there’s the chief outside, don’t say a word 
about zee stuff you’ve already got.” 

“Not I, old buck, I’m dumb.” 

He introduced me to the chief, explained that I was a New Yorker ignor¬ 
ant of their rules, and would appreciate the courtesy, if he would let me take 
out a few things and leave the rest in bond. 

The chief replied, “Ceitainly,” and this time I took out half a dozen little 
thingo, of such small intrinsic value that they did’nt charge me anything. 

I suppose I could buy one or two houses with the money I’ve blown in 
on cigars, but they come in very conveniently sometimes. 

In the Province of Quebec I found that a knowledge of French would 
have been a very handy thing, because while it’s supposed to be an English 
country, nearly everybody speaks French, especially in the City of Quebec 
and in the smaller towns, and I had considerable difficulty parleyvooing my 
wav around there. I got off at one little town and inquired the way to a large 
factory I wanted to get to. The man I inquired of was a Frenchman, and his 
reply was practically unintelligible. He gesticulated considerably, did a 
whole lot of hand talking, and shouted at me, thinking that perhaps I could 
understand a noisy French, if I proved idiot enough to fail to grasp his 
meaning in a normal tone. 

It was all very amusing but I finally had to leave him, just about as wise 


29 


as when I started the interview, although I did get something out of h 
peculiar patois about- “Up zee leetle hill.” 

I finally tackled a little butcher’s fcov and he replied. 

“Gee whiz ! Mister, I’ve been here three years ard this is only the sec on 
time I’ve had a chance to speak English.” 

“Well ! what did that frog-eater mean?” 

I finally got the information I wanted and discovered that the French 
man had described a long stairway at the factory entrance as “Upzve litti 


hill.’ 


I left the Canadian hotels with some little regrit 
Plenty of fresh salmon and venison, trout for breakfast caught in a strc-an 
only a stone’s throw away, maple syrup from trees seen from one’s bedroon 
window, and while I’m not a glutton, I’m quite willing to get indigestion oi 
that kind of grub. 

In all of my trips, I always managed to get a good business out of Cac 
ada, and that is the principal object of every trip. 



A little salesman was sitting nest a window in the train the other da] 
with the most foielorn woebegotten look on his face. Another salesma 
watched him for awhile, noticed he was looking pretty blue, and thougl: 
he’d go over and cheer him up a little. 

He went over, took the other half of the seat and sat there about fn 
minutes without saying a word. 

Finally he inquired, “Are you in business, my friend?” 

“Yes, the jewelry business.” “Salesman?” 

“Well ! I used to think I was a salesman, but today I know I’m only 
travelling man.” 


30 


ALL IS NOT GOLD THAT GLITTERS 


“What an ideal existence is the drummer’s every day, 

Full of pleasure and enjoyment as he travels on his way, 

Just one solid round of pleasure, always smiling, looking prime, 

Just a regular little picnic, something doing all the time.” 

Just amusing himself talking to a drummer in the store, 
ft young clerk in admiration envying him the clothes he wore. 

“It’s all right,” replied the drummer, “from your little point of view, 
Always there is something doing, always there is something new.” 

Yes! it seems a regular picnic, seems a regular little joke, 

Going round and taking orders, always flush and never broke, 

Always riding in a Pullman, seeing all there is to see, 

Yes, your guess is nearly right, son, nothing is too good for me. 

How about the days when orders are but few and far between? 

And your boss is sore and sulky and the competition keen; 

Then you wish you’d never started, and your thoughts fly back, but say! 
VYhat’s the use of getting homesick, home’s two thousand miles away. 

lust take Crystal Springs, for instance, nothing doing in that town, 
Called on every blooming merchant, everybody turned me down, 
t soon tired of the scenery and the thought flashed through my brain, 
would leave that ancient borough and would catch the midnight train. 

'Jow that’s just a lovely depot, quite a cheerful waiting room, 
billed with rank spittoons and so forth, foul as any ancient tomb; 
f ust an evil smelling oil lamp shed its fitful gleam around, 
ftfliile a drunk was loudly snoring, making quite a cheerful sound. 

approached the ticket window and asked with an humble mien 
f the twelve o’clock was coming and what time it would be in: 

Hie superior ticket agent, I’d disturbed from deep repose, 

Vith a foolish grin said sweetly, “Eleven-sixty I suppose.” 


3i 



Just about ten minutes later he marked up that self-same train, 

Just an hour and fifteen minutes late, and soon he came again, 

Added still ten other minutes with his little piece of chalk, > ' 

Seemed to me I’d get there quicker if I started in to walk. » • 

Now if under these conditions you discover any fun, 

Or with grim attempt at humor, you essay a little pun, 

And there’s really humor in it, I’ll take off my hat to you, 

For that’s more than old Josh Billings and Bill Nye combined could do. 

Well! at last I heard the whistle and my train came limping in, 

And I reached my destination, landed in the town of Lynn, 

Squeezed with other fellow sufferers in the crowded antique ’bus, 

And we reached the Hotel Leary with but very little fuss. 

There I took the pen they offered, signed on in the murky gloom, 

While a vicious black mosquito took the number of my room, 

Sang aloud his well known signal, rang his clarion war alarm, 

When I reached the room assigned me there I found a mighty swarm. 

Then ensued a sanguinary struggle that should place my name 

With the heroes and the warriors who have fought through blood and flam* 

How I’d gladly change with Dewey or Horatius in that fight 

With that endless host of demons through the watches of the night. 

I wish you had shared the breakfast that I got the following day, 

Started in with patent cereal and it tasted like chopped hay, 

While the butter looked anaemic—though it proved to be quite strong— 
And the tablecloth was dirty, had been used a week too long. 

Then the bacon tasted salty, so I thought I’d try a chop, 

But that proved quite a mystery and I soon was glad to stop: 

In my vain attempt to eat it, every bit stuck in my throat, 

When I solved the problem later ’twas a piece of tough old goat. 

Coffee on the blink and muddy, eggs laid just three months too soon, 
Cobwebs hanging from the ceiling in a beautiful festoon, 

Scores of flies that buzzed around me while I tried to eat the stuff, 

In a monotone hummed to me, “Well,! old man, it’s pretty tough.” 

“Well! old boy, I’ve heard your story,” said that retail grocery clerk, 

“Seems to me it ain’t all glory, guess I’ll stay on here and work; 

But you fellows seem so cheerful, that I thought I’d like to roam, 

Through the country like you folks, but say, old sport, I’ll stay at home.” 


32 


SOMETHING FOR NOTHING 


A VACATION 


A little over twelve years ago I decided that I would take a vacation and 
make a little trip over to the old country. I engaged my passage on the 
Majestic to sail in September. In those days I worked for a Boston firm, and 
a friend of mine there said I was very foolish to waste any money on a cabin 
passage, and suggested that be could get me over free of expense. He ex¬ 
plained that a friend of his was captain of a freight boat travelling between 
Boston and Liverpool; that said captain tired with the ordinary freight crew 
as companions, and that he would be glad to take anyone who was a good 
conversationalist, and necessarily, good company, along with him. I told 
him I would do my little best to entertain the captain, so I cancelled my 
passage on the Majestic, and on the evening of the twelfth,—I believe the 
boat was due to sail on the thirteenth-—went down to the dock to interview 
him. 

After the first five minutes of conversation, my free trip began to look 
very problematical. The captain explained that the last time he had taken a 
dead-head, some spy on board had notified the company, and he had nearly 
lost his position. I had figured that, as captain, he was sort of privileged 
character, and that he had the privilege of taking a companion with him if 
he wished to do so, so this phase of the situation struck me unexpectedly. 
I explained that 1 would have to wait a week for another boat, and the delay 
would prove most inconvenient for me, besides being expensive. I let my 
friend do most of the talking, and he finally arrived at an understanding 
with the captain that if I’d sign on as a distressed seaman or as a freight 
hand, it would be all right when we got out to sea. Meaning, I supposed, 
that once out of sight of the land, I would be the guest of the captain. This 




looked all right to me, but if it failed to come off as I anticipated, I could 
see a life-sized picture of myself as a distressed seaman climbing the mast in 
a storm, when I’ll bet I could’nt climb the thing in a calm. I did’nt fancy 
the idea at all, so I decided I would sign as a freight hand, although I was 
very ignorant as to what my duties might be in that line. 

On the morning we were to sail, I hunted up the oldest suit of clothes I 
had and put in an appearance at the dock bright and early. I found them 
loading cattle and the first job I had to do was to punch cows. The cattle, 
more or less willingly, walked down a long gang-plank to the boat; occasion¬ 
ally there would be an obstinate cow—probably gifted with perspicacity and 
who had a vision of an axe waiting for her on the other side,—who would 
require considerable persuasion before sbe could be induced to embark. 1 
was furnished with a big stick and instructions to apply a little Roosevelt 
administration to any animal evidencing that inclination. 

Well! we got all of them on at last, and the boat pulled out into the 
harbor, and they proceeded to read the roll call of the crew. I did’nt feel 
at all flattered to find that I had secured a berth with the cattle gang. They 
got down to work immediately afterwards, and a fellow came up to me end 
ordered me below. He was a villianous looking individual, so far as I could 
see he was without a single redeeming feature in his whole countenance, and 
I could see trouble ahead. I did’nt like his looks nor his manner, so I asked 
him who he thought he was talking to. He told me to follow him below and 
I would soon find out. In those days I seldom dodged a scrap, so I accom¬ 
panied him, but when we got below he seemed to forget all about it 

I found my duty was to help feed the cattle; they give them a very 
light diet the first day or so of the voyage, so after we had thrown them 
a little hay, I found time to look around. The prospect seemed to be 
anything but a cheerful one, cattle all around, and the company seemed 
to be on par with the cattle. The sleeping quarters consisted of a long 
row of about twenty narrow hunks and they wouldn’t pass a Board of 
Health examination. Twenty more were immediately above them, all so 


34 


close to each other that a fellow could hardly avoid contact with the 
occupant of the next one. I chummed in with a little Welshman who was 
working his way home from South Dakota. He was as tough as they 
make ’em; at swearing he was a genius, and he had a wonderful 
vocabulary in that line. The average English oath proved altogether in¬ 
adequate to express his ideas with, so he had borrowed the cream of the 
swearing words used by the other nationalities, and the cosmopolitan 
anathema he had at his tongue’s end was truly amazing. 

Any port in a storm, he was the most sociable fellow there, and I 
had to content myself with him. 

Almost the first thing he said was, “I ain’t going to sleep in those 
beds, they’re filthy.” At least that was what I understood him to say, 
but as he averaged an expletive for every word, the result sounded like 
Choctaw, and it was a little difficult to get at the meaning of his remarks. 
I had arrived at his conclusion so we decided we would hunt for another 
place to sleep. It struck me that a professional hobo would have found 
it a problem to locate a comfortable spot, and I discovered that sleeping 
accomodations on the lower deck of a cattleboat are pretty scarce. After 
much investigation, the best we could do was to lie on the hard cement 
floor with about as much hay for a pillow as I could hold in one hand, and 
the edge of the tarpaulin cover of the hatch-way over our heads. 

I passed anything but a comfortable night; the lowing of a seasick 
cow is not a good substitute for a mother’s lullaby song, and I didn’t 
particularly object when they dug us out at four o’clock the next morning 
to water the cattle. In my brief experience I didn’t find out the best way 
to water them. The reservoir was a large barrel from which the water 
was baled by a man standing on a box, and then the bucket was passes 
down the line of men. I took my place in line, but got so much of the 
vater on my legs that I applied for the position of baler. I was promoted 
to the box, only to spill a whole lot of it down my neck, consequently 
by the time w.e got through, I was in a lovely condition. 


35 


I have met in my experience a number of people who have so little 
control over temper that when they lose it they become temporarily 
insane and irresponsible. One of the cattle-hands proved to be a sample 
of that class. He took exception to the quality of my work as a helper 
and ordered me to do it differently. A remark I made in reply seemed to! 
irritate him, but I walked away without giving it another thought. I 
heard a pattering of running feet behind me and wheeled just in time.i 
He had a pitch-fork aimed at my back, and if I hadn’t turned just in 
time I have not the slightest doubt but that I would have been punctured. 
I threw my hand around to my hip pocket and he seemed to think better,! 
of it, as I remarked, “Willie, just one more little step and you will be< 
converted into an interesting hospital case.” Apparently he had no desirdj 
for conversion and that ended the episode. 

When breakfast was summoned I was decidedly hungry, but when 
it was served I found that I could not eat a thing. Tough hotels hav* 
almost eliminated my squeamishness, so I had no fault to find with the 
food. They had nice, fresh rolls and butter, ship’s coffee seldom is good,! 
but that was passable. I didn’t expect to find any finger bowls or napkins, 
but I did think the men might have washed their hands before they sat 
down to eat. That slight neglect took my appetite away. It was the! 
same thing at dinner and supper, too. I couldn’t eat under those com 
ditions, but retired to sleep at night ravenously hungry. 

We got a little more hay this time, but we had only been lying down 
about half an hour when I kicked the Welshman. 

“Get up, Welshy, if we stay here we will get wet through.” 

The rain was pouring in torrents, the hatchway above us was open, 

' 

and because of the position we were lying in, it poured on to us like 
water running off a roof. The Welshman got up, and in his peculiarly 
inimitable manner grumbled in a monotone; then we started on another 
tour of investigation for new sleeping quarters. He finally spied a little 
shelf away up on the side of the boat, climbed up, stretched himself on 


36 





it, and although in imminent danger of falling off, was snoring in two 
minutes. I looked up at him enviously, and believe I wished he would fall 
off because I could find no place for myself, but I finally lay down on 
the hard cement floor with my arm for my pillow. I had a gun in my 
hip-pocket, and rolled over on to that so often during the night, that the 
memory of those few hours is painful even yet. 

Four o’clock came at last. A nasty, dirty, choppy morning at sea, 
raining in torrents, the wind howling through the rigging in the most 
dismal manner, like a tortured banshee, and the boat doing all kinds of 
complicated acrobatic stunts among the waves. The poor cattle were in 
bad shape and looked so pitiable that I believe I felt more sorry for them 
than I did for myself, they were so sick that some of them died. 

I was so hungry that morning that I thought I could eat under any 
conditions, and I started with a roll and butter. My eyes wandered over 
to the dirty hands though, and my attempt to eat proved a failure. It 
takes a lot to make me seasick, but that proved to be a surfeit, and I 
will draw a veil over the subsequent proceedings. 

Meanwhile, I had been wondering how far out to sea I had to get 
before the captain thought it necessary to redeem his promise. Nearly 
two days out, no land in sight, and no captain visible, and I decided that 
I had had about all of my present quarters that I wanted. I found that 
the beauty I had the few words with in Boston Harbor was a section boss. 
To explain that, there was one man ahead of the whole gang, and as he 
couldn’t keep track of them all himself, he had divided them into sections 
and had a deputy over each. The head of my section was my friend of 
the villainous countenance, so I went to him and said, Here, if money 
will get me out of this mess, you can consider me out.” 

“All right,” he replied, “give me ten dollars and I’ll let you lay off 
work till we get to Liverpool.” 

I decided I would see the captain first, so I went on a hunt for that 
individual. I found him on the bridge and started, Well, captain, I 


37 


thought you were going to take me under your fatherly care when w<| 
got out to sea ?” 

“No, no,” he replied, “I explained to jmur friend that it would be imj 
possible. I told him that we have doctors, lawyers, professional men anc| 
college students come out this way to save money and I thought you 
would like to do it.” 

I told him that I did not care about saving money in that manner, anc^ 
suggested that I pay my fare and go as a cabin passenger. He replied] 
that it would be impossible, to do such a thing would be as much as his I 
position was worth, he would do as much for me as he would do for his i 
own brother, but he dare not do a thing. This seemed to leave no alter ] 
native but to go back to my amiable head, which I proceeded to do. I 
told him that if he would give me a place to sleep I would give him thej 
ten dollars. 

There were four or five section heads, and they had a cabin between^ 
them, so he advanced me to that. It proved only one degree better than 
the other and I slept the remainder of the voyage with my clothes on. 

Then I went to the poorly paid cook: “Cook, if you will give me a 
cup of coffee and a sandwich once in a while between here and Liverpool. 
I’ll give you ten bob.” 

That was only two dollars and a half, but it looked big to him, and 
proved the best investment in the way of a tip that I had ever made. 
It secured me roast beef, ham and eggs, chicken, custards, puddings, and 
so forth, and I lived high for the rest of my trip. I gave the same tip 
to the steward to let me leave my trunk in his room, gave away sundry 
smaller tips, spoiled the appearance of a box of cigars, and have been 
wondering ever since where I made any money on that deal. 

It certainly proved a long ten day trip; I don’t know whether any 
one noticed it at the time or not, but those were the longest days since 
Joshua commanded the sun to stand still. My only diversion was a book, 
and the most comfortable seat I could find, a nice, soft coil of tarred 


rope. 


38 




Everything comes to an end, and at last we reached the Mersey. I 
gave away the clothes I had worn, put off in a boat for the dock, called 
a cab for I^ime Street station, and as we bowled along, made the mental 
resolution that no one would ever hear a word from me about it. Here 
it is though, and with a cordial invitation to my friends to kick me hard 
if they ever find that I am fool enough to contemplate another cattle-boat 
trip. 



I was standing on the side-walk of a small town in Tennessee talking to 
ny customer, when a diminutive coon came along, jauntily carrying a gun 
war his shoulder, and swinging three small birds in his hand. 

He stopped and addressed my customer. 

“Say ! Mr. George, I jes met Uncle Jim down de street, an’ he step me 
nd say ‘Look here, nigger, dem birds will make a nice supper for my ole 
oman. How much does yo’ want fo’ ’em?’ 

I done tole him be could have ’em fo* fo’ bits, an he sex, ‘What! fo’ bits 
y dem free little birds ? Why ! nigger, yo’ sho is crazy.’ 

I sez, Dat’s so, Uncle Jim, I done fergot dey wuz free, it’s six bits.’’ 


39 


“TABLE ETIQUETTE” 


Swapping experiences with a fellow salesman one day, he told me of 
incident that happened in a fine cafe in Cincinnati. I’ll give it in his ow 
words. 

,4 I went in to dinner and was placed at a table where a young couple- 
apparently a bridal pair—were just getting through. The way they ate th 
dessert was so amusing, that the whole meal must have been a circus, and 
was sorry I had missed it. The best was yet to come though. The waite 
brought them two finger bowls, each had a little sprig of mint and a dink 
little piece of lemon in it. The girl watehed the fellow, following his cue i 
everything, but this time he was’nt equal to the occasion. He might hav 
experimented with the soup with his fork, and probably had considerabl 
trouble juggling the peas with his knife, but he wouldn’t take chances witl 
this new drink. He shied, and said to the waiter. 

4 We don’t wish any of those, thank you.’ 

Well! I grinned; he indignantly picked up his hat, came over to me anc 
said, 

‘I reckon you bain’t in the habit of eating in such swell places es thisl 
be you ?’ 

Let’s draw a v®il over the rest of it.” 

About fourteen years ago I sat down to dinner in a popular priced restaur 
ant in a flourishing town in Mass. Barnum’s circus was there that day, a loi 
of simon pure farmers were also there. One of them sat next to me, and as 
he did’nt know how to order his dinner, I thought I’d help him out. 

They had a combination menu, the regular dinner bill of fare was printed 
on one side of it and a-la-carte orders on the other. I told him to order soup, 
and he got away with that all right. Next I told him to pick out the meat 


40 






e wanted and the girl would bring him some vegetables with it. When he 
nished that, he picked up his hat to go, then I said to him, 
l “Don’t you want any dessert?” 

He replied, “Do I get more yet?” 

“Sure, sit down and order it.” 

He sat down again,, and looked over the bill of fare carefully while the 
irl patiently waited. He failed to see anything more he fancied on the 
.inner bill and he turned over to the a-la-carte side. 

“Well! I reckon I’ll take a couple of fried eggs.” 

The girl roared, I smiled a little smile, and he left. 




tfSEnos-a 


The Southerner is a very sociable individual, and if a stranger wants to 
neet you, instead of standing on ceremony and waiting for an introduction, 
le just introduces himself. Very often he starts a conversation without any 
preliminaries at all, and frequently you find yourself talking to someone 

vithout the ghost of an idea as to who he is. 

I had quite an interesting conversation one day with a stranger in a hotel 

n a Missisippi town. 

I thought he was a fellow traveller, and ten minutes probably elapsed 
,efore I discovered that he was the Governor of the State. 

Then 1 told him that he looked intelligent enough to he a salesman, and 
; hat I had taken him for one. He seemed to feel quite flattered at the 

:ompliment. 


4i 




FOR THE BEGINNER 


WITH APOLOGIES TO THE OLD TIMER 


Three bricklayers from Lancashire, England, were fellow-passengers 
with me one trip from New York to Baltimore. All of theni had beer 
imbibing too freely, and one of them took a fancy to me and became 
confidential. 

“I ’ave a art I ’ave, and I knows the bricklaying game, too, I served 
me seven years apprenticeship I ’ave, and I can ’old me own with anj 
of ’em.” 

Experience helps in every line, but the salesman who starts out with 
plenty of common sense, full of confidence in himself, some little 
knowledge of human nature, and fully appreciating the value of a pleasant 
smile, will not have to wait seven years to make good. With a good line : 
the chances are he will be successful from the start. When I started ; 
I turned down a salary proposition—a sure thing—and commenced on a 
commission basis. I had a seasonable line and started writing orders 
from the first day. I have a great deal of sympathy for the new mar 
who fails to take an order the first day or so. I have an idea that he 
would get very blue, and expect he would think he had stumbled into the 
wrong vocation and was not cut out for a salesman. A skunk—failure 
to scratch an order-book—during the day is always discouraging. The 
old salesman—a man with probably a fine record back of him—who runs 
into an extended skunk lasting several days, thinks that he used to know 
how to sell goods and imagines he is to blame, because he believes he is 
then a back number. 

I’ve had a good many years’ experience since that time, but two oi 
three days of that kind of thing proves pretty discouraging even now. 1 
flatter myself that I do no superfluous worrying, because I realize the 


42 




futility of it, and I always wind up my day conscious of the fact that I 
have done the best I could, and if during the day I have not been guilty of 
any bad errors of judgment, I have nothing to reproach myself with. 
Most of the salesmen that you meet will tell you that they never worry, 
but let me illustrate. A year or so ago I met a friend of mine in a 
town in North Carolina, and this subject happened to be our topic. 

“Taylor,” he said, “let me tell you something. This game of worrying 
when there is nothing doing is dead wrong. I quit that fool business 
long ago; if it fails to come my way to-day, I know I’ll get it to-morrow, 
and I always try to keep a record back of me, so that there’ll be no kick 
coming from the firm. I’ve cut out the drink, too.” 

This little conversation took place on Saturday. Business had 
evidently been good that week and it was easy to be philosophical. 1 
met him again on Monday afternoon in another town and accosted him. 

“Well, Wall, how’s business?” 

He assumed a most disgusted expression and replied, “Abosolutely 
rotten, old man, and I’m going to buy a quart bottle.” 

He was somewhat of an exception though, because a good salesman 
wouldn’t get discouraged over one day’s hard luck, nor would he take to 
drink to get a false cheerfulness. 

Never butt in. A specialty man introducing a new article or seeking 
a new customer, knows that to sell his man it is absolutely essential that 
he have his undivided attention until the deal is consumated. He spends, 
we will say, fifteen to thirty minutes, gradually but surely bringing his 
man from the point of apathy and complete indifference, up to the stage 
3 f interest necessary to make a sale. At the crucial moment perhaps, 
Bill Smith, an old travelling friend of the buyer, drops in. The all- 
important interview is taking place probably at the back of the store. 
Bill can see that the buyer is engaged, and he can easily sneak out again 
without being observed, but that’s not Bill’s way. No, William walks the 
full length of the store, butts in on your interview, sticks out his hand to 
four man: 


43 


“How are you Fred, don’t let me disturb you, I see you are busy, jus 
thought I’d drop in and shake hands.” 

It’s all off, the spell is broken, the buyer knows you nearly had him 
and he’s going to be as leary and suspicious of you as the trout was: tha 
trout, the large one, that got away from your hook the last time you wen 
fishing. You’ve used all your best arguments, and like the trout, th< 
man won’t be interested in the same bait again. 

Now, Bill didn’t mean any harm, and according to our ethics of th< 
road, you have but a very slim case against him, but you feel like takin; 
him up a back alley somewhere and saying an infinite number of inter 
esting things to him. 

In England, the salesman carries what we might call “the courtes: 
of the road,” to what may seem like unnecesary extremes. He opens th< 
door of a store—if it’s a glass door he just looks through—and if he see: 
the buyer in conversation with anyone, either salesman or customer, h< 
walks along to the next store. To my mind, that one trait is about th< 
only evidence he shows of salesmanship. Experience has taught hin 
that it is bad business to butt in on his customer’s selling interviews 
common courtesy tells him that it is the height of ignorance to do so ii 
the case of his fellow salesman, and he knows that the best possibh 
time for him to tackle the buyer is in his leisure moments, when he cai 
command the whole of his attention, with nothing to distract his interest 

Don’t think you know so much you cannot learn more. Emersor 
says: “Shall I tell you the secret of a true scholar? It is this: Ever} 
man I meet is my master in some point, and in that I learn of him.” 

A number of years ago a Baltimore clothing house started one of thei! 
inside men on the road. He had a technical knowledge of worsteds am 
woolens, but a minimum knowledge of salesmanship. He went all th( 
first week without a nibble, and most of the second with a similar result 
The poor fellow was rapidly getting so blue that he couldn’t talk cheer 
fully enough to interest anybody. Towards the end of the second weel 


44 


he ran into a man who seemed to show a gleam of interest in him. He 

told him his troubles, and wound up with: 

* 

“I have been out two weeks and haven’t sold a bill; I don’t believe 
I’m cut out for a salesman, but if you will, you can do me a big favor. I 
would like to know if my failure is my fault, or the fault of the goods I 
carry, and before I send in my resignation, I would like to have you come 
down to the hotel, look over the stock and tell me exactly what you 
think of the situation.” 

That particular man w r as the proprietor of four large stores although 
the salesman was unaware of the fact. He told him that as a favor he 
would go down to the sample room with him, although he had a full 
stock of clothing and would not be able to do anything for him. Once 
in the sample room he saw the boy had some very good values, and that 
he could use some of the goods, so he told him to take out his order- 
book. 

“Send me one hundred pairs of this number, two hundred of this—■'* 
but here the salesman broke in: 

“Say, mister, quit your fooling, will you? This is a serious thing to 
me and no laughing matter.” 

The buyer replied, “I’m not fooling, you have some good values here, 
and I can use the goods all right.” 

By this time the salesman had reached a condition where he couldn’t 
v/rite out an order, so he handed the buyer his pencil and order-book and 
said: 

“Say, mister, you write it out, will you, please? I’m too nervous.” 

That was the beginning of a successful career and he appealed to the 
human side of the buyer just in time. 

If you can, without intruding, watch the other fellow in his interview, 
study his address and his method of introducing himself, his opening 
talk may give you some valuable points. Later on though, don’t be an 
imitator, or even too much of a plagiarist in repeating the stereotyped 


45 


talk possibly furnished by the house, because originality is much more 
effective and impressive than something you have learned by heart. 

They tell the joke of one fellow who had his little speech all 

j 

memorized, and who used to repeat it like a parrot, never varying it, 
always the same to everyone. Stop him at any point and he would have! 
to repeat the whole spiel all over again. 

Have plenty of confidence in yourself, not over-confident to the extent 
of egotism, but don’t be afraid of the other fellow. When I started, thej 
fact that the proprietor that I might be interviewing was possibly a 
millionaire, or perhaps a man of superior education, sometimes used to; 
oppress me to the point of embarrassment. I quickly got over that by 
figuring that in spite of his wealth or education, I was willing to bet my 
last dollar, and mortgage a few I expected to make, that morally I was 
every whit as good as he; on that ground I met him on an absolutely 
equal footing, and I soon found I could talk to a millionaire as easily as 
I could to a peanut vendor. 

When I entered the dining room of a fine hotel, I used to have an 
equally embarrassed feeling. A dignified head waiter at ten dollars a 
week, would escort me down a long dining room crowded with finely 
dressed people, and I used to have the fool idea that every eye in the 
room was focussed on me. That feeling passed away, and I made up my 
mind that as I am not particularly good-looking, nor a conspicuous freak 
of nature, no one in the dining room gave me a thought. 

To wind up this rambling sort of an article, I will just say, that while 
there are many different grades of salesman, two classes stand out 
especially distinct, the honest and the dishonest. The latter frequently 
has a very ephemeral career. He starts out with just one idea in his head 
—to get orders—and thinks any means are justified that will produce that 
desirable result. Such a man will sell a customer and promise that he 
will give him the sole agency of his particular line, promising by all 
that is sacred that he will sell no one else in that town, and then 


46 



proceed to sell everyone there that he can land; lying about his goods 
and misrepresenting everything generally. At night as he copies out hi:? 
orders, he grins broadly as he thinks of the gullibility of the average 
merchant. Next trip, very much to his surprise, instead of an avalanche 
of orders he runs into a tornado of abuse, and gets all that is coming to 
him. Later you’ll find him back behind the counter, or possibly driving a 
garbage wagon. 

The fellow who is willing to sacrifice an order, rather than lie about 
his goods, or give a man his honest advice as to the quantity he should 
buy rather than to overload him, will invariably win out, and build up a 
permanent territory. Early in my career I started on the principle that 
honesty is the best policy, and have always found it paid fair dividends, 
so that I can honestly recommend the same policy to the beginner. 



The bus was well filled with the usual crowd when a bridal couple 
ippeared at the door 

“Is there room for us to squeeze in there?” inquired the groom 
An old travelling man replied: 

“Well! I guess there is, partner, but if I were in your place. I’d wait 


ill I got home.” 


47 


TinmrrainnnnrffinrrsTnnnnr^ 


/'imrrrFrrBiroinnnnm^^ 


Tnmnr 


mnO 


THE NOMAD 


My home is wherever I hang up my hat, 
Wherever I camp for the night, 

Sometimes it’s a swell 
Seven story hotel 

With a button to turn out the light. 

With porters and bell-boys all standing in rows, 
Caucasian and heathen Chinee, 

With greatest elation 
For small compensation 
Fall over each other for me. 


The clerk greets me gladly—no prodigal sen 
A better reception could get— 

With mien deferential, 

Although it’s essential 

That I have the price, you can bet. 

A dignified waiter attends to ray wants, 

And provides me a kingly feast, 

Soups, salads and snacks 

And fine canvas-backs 

And lobsters a foot long at least. 


£ 



Surfeited at last I have time to enjoy 
A beautiful scene of the North, 

For snow is the king 
And is scintillating 
In jewels of fabulous 'worth. 

JUUUJLSLGJLSIJLSU^^ 


48 


C100000000 0 C 000QQQQQQP SL9JLSLSUL9 P iLSJ> OJLQJLSljl fiJUt 















ilftJIgJLSLgJIjULgJIJLPJ fl£QQQQ 0000000o o o o qqq 0 o o o_o 


r!T67n5 


Tinra mTinnnrcnr ?mr <r <rymnnnr 


In wonderful splendor it scatters it’s gems 
In lavish and prodigal style, 

With bountiful hand 

Ail over the land 

And they are all mine for awhile. 

But shortly I leave this fairy-like clime, 
For the land where the roses bloom, 
Where gorgeous flowers 
Fill Arcadian bowers 
With rich Oriental perfume. 




Where sweet pomegranates are bursting their shells, 
Where red-ripe persimmons hang low, 

The mocking bird sings 
As be flutters his wings, 

And flirts with his mate in the bough. 


I envy no man, be he pirate or king, 
Or noble of high degree, 

I’m as gay as the bird 
—Whose song I’ve just heard— 

Who warbled the song of the free. 


My home is wherever I hang up my hat, 
Wherrver I camp for the night, 

The world is my home, 

Wherever I roam, 

I’m a happy Ishmaelite. 




* 


V £ JLSULSL JLSUUUUULfiJLSLOJULJLOJLWUlJUUlJl^^ 

49 












IN CUBA 


When I commenced this little volume, it was with the intention o 
making a literary specialty out of it, and I did’nt expect to write anything 
that would not be especially of interest to the travelling salesman. I don' 
believe anybody else will be interested anyway, so I won’t cater tocutsid' 
taste. With this in mind, I’ll have to cut out the description of Havam 
Harbor, the beauties of the country and so forth, because few of us art 
interested in these things; plenty of pen-shoVers who know how to write 
have written interesting pages on them, and anything I might say would h 
tame in comparison. 

Eliminating these things though, leaves very little for me to write about 
as my selliag experience there was disappointing. Before I reached Havana 
I was frequently told that so many people there spoke English that an inter¬ 
preter would be a quite unnecessary encumbrance, a sort of supesfluity. I 
soon found they were mistaken, in the best hotel none of the waiters under¬ 
stood enough English to bring more than half the breakfast I ordered. 

My first trouble began at the custom-house. One of the officials there 
wore such an impressive beautiful bunch of whiskers that I took him for no 
less than a dignified Spanish grandee. He appraised my samples, counted, 
then weighed them, and charged me a certain sum of money that I under¬ 
stood would be returned to me when I left the country, provided all my 
samples were intact upon my return. When he finally refunded my money, 
he deducted two dollars and a half for insurance whatever that may be. 11 
anyone had felt inclined to swear at him it would have done no good, as he 
could’nt understand a word of English apparently and he would probably 
have construed all anathema into something just complimentary of his 
whiskers. 

I soon found it would be impossible to get along without an interpreter, 


50 




md hired one for the usual price, five dollars—American—for the day. 

He certainly could talk too, but it was all Greek to me and I never found 
out whether he was a good salesman or not either, but to judge by the 
results he was N. G., as he only landed one order in four days and that fellow 
rancelled before we had a chance to ship it. I told him what to say, drilled 
lim thoroughly on the most particular points, and he gestured and chattered 
in great shape, all to no avail. 

I used to watch him talking to a prospective customer, and wondered 
how they could understand each other. What he lacked in selling points 
*nd logical arguments, he made up in volume and noise. During my brief 
*tay there, I picked up a few words, but listening to my interpreter, I never 
could understand whether he was abusing me for an American pig, or if he 
was really devoted to my interests, and really doing the best he could. 

After one interview I asked him to repeat the conversation, and it 
seemed he had momorized the points I had impressed him with, and had 
elaborated on them to some advantage. It’s a big handicap though, trying 
to do business through another individual in that manner. In the psychology 
of salesmanship, personality, magnetism, and a number of abstract things 
figure in the sale that is made, even the inflection of the voice is quite a 
factor, and none of these could be brought into play through the medium of 
another man, so that I was practically helpless. 

One man was handling a cheap Swiss watch that I knew was no good. 

‘ Tell him” I said through the interpreter, ‘‘that if he winds that thing 
up at night, it won’t run till the morning, he’d have to break a beautiful 
.lreim in two to keep it going at all, as it has to be wound about three times 
a day to keep it moving.” 

The other fellow shrugged his shoulders in so eloquent a manner that I 
could see that he apparently acquiesced in what I had said, so I asked again. 

“Well ! what does he say ?” 

‘‘He admits all that senor, he says that he knows the watch is rottawn, 
but he sells many of them, and he says yours might not at all go ” 


51 


Just as illogical as a woman, and I’ve always be«n a fiat failure with 
female buyer. 

We started in to work at eight a. m , at ten-thirty he would quit and g 
to breakfast, to show up again at about one o’clock, about four I’d find th 
Cuban sun so hot that I’d want to quit myself. All he took before eigb 
would be a cup of coffee and some fruit, the ten-thirty breakfast seemed t 
be a substantial meal, so substantial that it made him drowsy and a littl< 
siesta was then in order. In wandering around Havana, he steered me ini 
four merchants who could speak English, and I sold three of them, one ■< 
thousand watches, but taken altogether I don’t believe my Cuban tiip was ; 
profitable one, 



I listened to a negro woman evangelist in a town in North Carolina or 
one occasion, and when it come to the all-important part of the collection, 
ohe put up the most unique appeal I ever listened to. 

“Now I can’t talk ner sing very well, because I done lost free toofses, an’ 
I foun’ a dentist down de street, what says he’ll put ’em back in again fer 
seven dollars an a half. Now all yo’ white folkses what looks like ready 
money, step up to de contribution plate. Dere’s a whole lot here what looks 
.ike dey wuz good fer two bits, de res’ of yo’ come up wid dem dimes and 
aickies. Bress de Eawd.” 


52 


SOME HOTELS 


Speaking of hotels, you will find the whole fifty seveu varieties in Texas, 
good, bad and indifferent, the best and worst are all represented in the Lone 
Star State. 

One man I know of takes a singular pride in his reputation of running 
the worst on earth, and is quite jealous of any one who might run him a 
close second. There are plenty of bad ones, but so far as I know he is almost 
alone in his particular class. 

A lean cadaverous looking individual, one thing about him always 
proved a mystery to me, and that was how on earth he always managed to 
wear a three days’ beard. They claim that he is the source of most of the 
old stock jokes regarding tough hotels. This was the fellow that the sales¬ 
man gave the fifty-two cents to, to pay for his meal and when he inquired 
about the odd two cents the victim replied that he wanted him to make fifty 
cents clear profit on the meal. 

They say it was his veranda a salesman was sitting on just before supper, 
and wh»n the bell rang, a dog sitting near him howled dismally. You all 
know the rest, the man turned to the dog and inquired: 

“What are you howling about ? You don’t have to eat it.” 

Pretty hoary, those two. I always had an idea that Noah entertained 
his wife with similar stories in trying to break the monotony of the watery 
scenery, but fellows that know, say they originated in that Texas hotel. 

He has some good features about him however, he’ll cash checks or 
drafts for anybody, and has on hand, ornamenting the walls and so forth, 
quite a few expensive souvenirs of this little indulgence. He’s quite a 
humorist too, and passes off all criticism with a joke. 

When I’m hungry I’d rather have a good steak than listen to a poor 
imitator of Artemus Ward, but a good steak would be a great novelty in 


53 



that place. His jokes mollify a great many of the boys, and in spite of his 
hotel, he is quite popular with most of them. 

One man handed him a dollar bill in payment of his account for the day. 
The proprietor looked at the dollar and said, 

“What’s this, my friend?” 

“That’s for my hotel bill for the day.” 

“But this is a two dollar a day house.” 

“Why ! I thought it was a dollar.” 

“That’s all right my friend, there’s no harm done, everybody thinks the; 
darned dump is a dollar a day till they come to pay the bill.” 

Another fellow kicked when paying for a meal, and the landlord remark-! 
ed to him, 

“What the deuce are you kicking about ? You only had to eat one meal,: 
while I’ve got to eat the blamed stuff all the time.” 

Another one started to go uptown after supper, when the old man noticed} 
him and asked where he was going. 

He replied; “Well ! old man, to tell you the truth, I’m going out to see if 
I can get something to eat. ’ ’ 

The response he got was, 

“Well ! old scout, if you’ll wait a few minutes I’ll go with you, I ain’t 
had a square meal in a month’s time.” 

I had one experience there myself and arrived at the conclusion the half, 
bad not been told. I had one supper and a room, and my feeble pen] 
wouldn’t do justice to it. Cobwebs everywhere, table cloth dirty, flies in¬ 
numerable, and grub uneatable. In the first place the surroundings would! 
have taken anyone’s appetite away and I would’nt have tried to stick it out 
if I had’nt been ravenously hungry. My room was awful too; that’s a great 
mosquito town and the window was an open invitation to ail of them. So 
thoughtful was he of the mosquitos that no attempt had been made in the 
form of screens to bar them, and that night figures among my painful 
reminiscences. 

i 1 


54 









I found that I could get a train out of town at seven o’clock next morn¬ 
ing, and I put in a six-thirty call. 1 paid my bill and the proprietor informed 
me that the train was twenty minutes late, and that I would have plenty of 
time for breakfast. I told him; 

“Not for me, old sport, after that supper last night, I’ve got a beautiful 
appetite for breakfast, and I’d hate to spoil it by tackling yours, I’ll wait till 
I get to the next town.” 

I did’nt even get a joke for my dollar. 

About eight years ago I had my first experience in Montgomery, Ala This 
is no libel on the Montgomery of today, now they have good hotels there, 
but in those days I drew near Montgomery with considerable misgivings on 
account of the reputation of the hotels. 

On the train I met a salesman who told me he had a private snap in 
Montgomery, and be kindly put me next. It seemed there was a retired 
■wholesale grocer there, who, in his desire to keep in touch with the boys had 
thrown his house open to them. According to this man’s description it was 
fine, home-cooking, bath, home-surroundings, everything pleasant, he guar¬ 
anteed that I would be well pleased with it, and if not he would pay the bill. 

I landed there on a Saturday morning, I remember. 

A colored lady waited on me and accosted me with, 

“Will you have ham or eggs ?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Will you have ham or eggs?” 

“You’ll have to speak a little louder, I’m a trifle deaf.” 

She repeated it, and I replied, 

“What’s the matter with ham and eggs?” 

They compromised, I got ham and one egg. 

The next question was “Tea or coffee?” 

Now I drink tea about once a year, and decided that was the morning for 
tuy annual cup. She brought me a cup, very weak. I thought my nerves 
were in no danger, and had the audacity to ask for a second cup. This time 


55 


I got pure, unadulterated, undiluted hot water. 

I took dinner with the whole family and one or two boarder*. 

The old lady did the carving, carefully measured with a practiced ey 
and cut off for me two square inches of pot roast. The string beans proven 
very stringy, immediately in front of me reposed in solitary grandeur on 
coarse outside leaf of celery. I knew the old lady was watching me and 
carefully picked it up, examined it deliberately from every angle, and then- 
as I did’nt want to rob some celery lover—very carefully put it back. Th 
old lady missed nothing. Solicitous of my appetite she said to the girl: 

“Give the gentleman the other celery.” 

She brought a duplicate leaf of the one I had passed up, and as I though 
they might want to make celery soup the next day, I declined it witl 
thanks. 

Supper and breakfast proved similar gastroncmic pleasures, end nex 
morning I told the waitress to notify the landlady that I wanted to pay nr 
bill. 

She sent the old man. 

I told him I wanted to pay my bill and get out. 

He replied that as there was no train out till night, I could’nt get out. 

“That’s all right” I retorted, “how much do I owe you?” 

“But, my friend, if you’re going away like this, there must be somethin) 
wrong.” 

I replied, “You’re a good guesser, if ycu insist upon knowing, I’ll tel 
you.” 

I repeated to him all the above, and made a few appropriate temarks 
t told him he was running a boarding house that might be all right at fou 
dollars a week, but that he had an awful nerve to think there were drummer 
living who would be glad to give him two dollars a day. 

The old liar replied, 

“I am very glad you told me this my friend, I’ve never thought of it ii 
that light before. Now if you’ll stay and give us another ohance, I’ll ge 


56 


anything for you that you might fancy. What would you like for supper 
for instance?” 

I told him and he replied that he would get me a nice sirloin for supper. 
We had a very interesting little dialogue, but I wound up with 

“No, I don’t think I’ll stay, enough is plenty, I’d look fine eating a nice 
juicy steak, while the boarder sitting next to me wore out his teeth, chew¬ 
ing on the indestructible piece of rubber you handed me last night.” 

I really believe he thought I was quite rude, and almost think I hurt his 
feelings, but he asked for it. 

The only thing a great many of the hotel keepers know about running a 
hotel, is the price, two dollars a day. 

An acquaintance of mine told me that he sat next to a farmer at dinner 
in a little town in Texas. He said the rube put away exactly three times es 
much as he did, but that they both went out together to pay for it. The 
farmer put down a quarter, and the travelling man laid down a twenty-five 
cent piece also. He was told that the price was half a dollar, and kicked, 
saying that the other fellow had only paid a quarter. All he got was 

“Yes! but your house allows you two dollars a day for hotel bills and 
we ought to have it.” 

Good logic, possibly, but hardly a square deal. 

In a little town in Arkansas, a peg-legged old fellow kept a poor sort of 
hotel, of the type only too frequently seen in the small towns of that state. 

The old fellow was bold, brave as a lion when he thought the other fellow 
was too chicken-hearted to resent it, but occasionally he made a mistake and 
caught a tartar. 

One day a travelling man—who was just preparing to leave town—com¬ 
plained of the treatment he had received in the hotel, and the proprietor, as 
usual, proceeded to cuss him out. 

“You get out of my hotel and stay out.” 

“This is a public place” the salesman replied, “I’ve paid my bill and I’ll 
get out when I’m ready.” 



Well! they went at it, said a great many things the reverse of compli-- 
mentary to each other, and as long as the scrap remained a purely verbal one 
the proprietor more than held his own, as that was his long suit. Finally the 
salesman became a little too personal in his remarks, the old man thought it 
was time to call a halt, so he called to his nigger porter. 

“Silas ! go and fetch the marshall, I’ll have this fellow pulled for breach 
of the peace M 

As Silas started for the door, the salesman broke in. 

“Well ! you old rascal, you’ve gone and done it now. Silas has gone for 
the marshall, I’ll be arrested and will have to pay a fine. I’m not going to 
be arrested for nothing, and if I’ve got to pay a fine, I’ll get my money’s 
worth.” He started to take off his coat and continued. “Before Silas comes 
back, I’m going to give you the d-licking you ever had.” 

The old man peg-legged hurriedly to the door and shouted, 

“Ho ! Silas, come back here, see what you can do for this gentleman, 
and take his grips down to the depot for him.” 

Some hotel-keepers say that the worst kickers they have are the fellows 
who get nothing to eat at home, but expect the earth when they get away, 
and kick if they don’t get it. 

A pretty bright Irishman runs a hotel in the small town of Quanah, Tex. 
For a town of that size it’s a pretty fair hotel too. They have no elevator 
and are not strong on bell-boys, but it’s all right for a country town. 

Some smart Aleo came along though and wrote on the wall— 

“If I ever strike a worse hotel than this I’ll let you know.” 

The Irishman’s wit was equal to the occasion. He wrote underneath— 

“Wire me when you get home.” 



58 



roinmrs 


c 2ns^is~G^r^ _ ?r6^n5 _ ^rvririr?nf7r(f(r^~?rs^^<5~^5^ir7rir^5~?r^ri)~5 _ inr^^^r^r0~y 


Most of the negro religious meetings are interesting 
as well as humorous. Their arguments, if lacking in logic, 
are highly entertaining, and they tell an amusing story of 
a big Senegambian exhorter down in Texas. Among the 
negroes, he had the reputation of being the talkingest 
fellow in those parts, and with a wonderful voice, he made 
up in noise what he lacked in eloquence. After one of his 
emotional sermons, he had exhorted the crowd into a 
condition bordering on hysteria, and shouted for all dem 
sinners to come to de mo’ner’s bench. 

“Everybody come up !, all of yo’ is on de straight an 
narrow paf which leads to destruction, all of yo’ is wicked 
sinners, an’ if yo’ don’t come up to de penitent fo’m and 
be saved, I’ll call for de angel Gabrel to blow his horn.” 

Just at the psychological moment, a kid at the back 
did blow a horn. Every nigger there made a pell-mell 
Marathon for the door, and as the preacher cleared three 
chairs in the obstacle race, he yelled 

“Oh ! good Lawd, I did’nt mean it, I wuz jes’ a talkin’ 
in fun.” 




59 


LOJUUUULOJULO^ PJUUUUULGJUULi^ ^SlSlSlSlSlSlSlSlSlSLX 




AN EXPERIENCE WITH A TRUNK LINE 


About four years ago I dropped a specialty line, and went out with £ 
trunk line. I thought—as many another salesman thinks—that a salesman 
is a salesman no matter what he may take-hold of, but after years of exper¬ 
ience, I’m not exactly full of admiration of my ability as a jewelry salesman 

After the first few weeks it seemed to me that I was entirely unfitted foi 
that sort of a position, the average jewelry salesman seemed to be a strong 
competitor of Ananias, and 1 thought that if it was necessary to do a wboU 
lot of lying about my goods, I would quit and get into a line where prevari¬ 
cating was not entirely essential to success. After four years, however, I air 
still in the jewelry business and still making a decent living without lying 
about it. 

I started out though, almost entirely ignorant of my line. In those days 
I could’nt tell a carbuncle from a bunyon, but I knew enough of salesmanship 
to make it go and am still plugging at it. 

I remember getting off at a little town in Texas, and as usual I sent my 
trunk up to the store ahead of me, and followed it a few minutes later. 

I met there an elderly gentleman who greeted me pleasantly,with typical 
Southern courtesy. 

“I am socry, sir,” he said “that you took the trouble to send up youi 
trunk, as there is absolutely nothing I can do for you.” 

“That’s all right,” I replied “your transfer man looks a deserving per¬ 
son, and I believe he’ll appreciate the quarter all right. You won’t charge 
me any rent for the space it takes up, will you?” 

“Not a cent, sir, but I am so stocked I cannot buy a thing.” 

“Very well, sir,” I replied, I’ll guarantee I’m the most good-natured 
salesman you ever turned down. If you’ve never seen a real green jewelry 
drummer, just gaze upon me. I don’t know a thing about jewelry, but I have 


60 



shown my line in a number of towns of this size and they tell me I’ve got the 
prettiest goods they’ve ever seen, now I’d just like to find out if you are of the 
same opinion.” 

‘‘No, sir, I am very sorry, sir, but really I am too busy to look.” 

‘‘Well !” I replied ‘‘I hate to be persistent enough to be offensive, but I 
would very much appreciate a few minutes of your time. Whether you buy 
or not is immaterial, as this is purely a missionary trip. If you will look and 
my line proves interesting, I’ll come back again next trip, but 1 hate to make 
a town twice to show my line once.” 

‘‘No, sir, I’m very sorry, etc.” 

‘‘All right, sir, do you smoke ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well ! let’s sit down and smoke ourselves to death,” and I handed him 
my cigar case. 

In the course of our further conversation, I found that my friend was of a 
literary turn of mind, so I said, 

“By the way, Mr. P-., did you ever hear that amusing piece of 

poetry entitled “Interviewing St. Peter” ? 

“No sir, I never did.” 

“Would you care to hear it?” 

He replied that he would, and I recited the following piece of poetry. 

I understand that it was written by a country editor in a little town in 
Michigan. In love with the daughter of the local druggist, he wanted to marry 
her, but the druggist’s wife was a religious crank and would’nt countenance 
the match. He relieved his feelings of his opinion of her in the following. 

“INTERVIEWING ST. PETER.” 



St. Peter stood guard at the Golden Gate 
With a solemn mein and an air sedate, 
When up to the top of the golden stair, 

A man and a woman ascending there, 


61 



Applied for admission. They came and stood 
Before St. Peter, great and good, 

In hope the City of Peace to win. 

And asked St. Peter to let them in. 

The woman was tall and lank and thin, 

With a scraggy beardlet upon her chin. 

The man was short and thick and stout, 

His stomach was built so it rounded out, 

His face was pleasant, and all the while 
He wore a kind and genial smile. 

The choirs in the distance the echoes woke. 

And the man kept still, while the woman spoke. 

“Oh ! thou who guardest the gate,” said she, ' 
“We two come hither beseeching thee, 

To let us enter the heavenly land. 

And play our harps with the angel band. 

Of me, St. Peter, there is no doubt, 

There’s nothing from Heaven to bar me out, 

I’ve been to meeting three times a week, 

And almost always would rise and speak. 

I’ve told the sinner about the day, 

When they’d repent of their evil way, 

I’ve told my neighbors, I’ve told them all 
’Bout Adam and Eve and the Primal Fall, 

I’ve shown them what they would have to do 
If they’d pass in with the choosen few. 

I’ve marked their path of duty clear, 

Laid out a plan for their whole career. 

I’ve talked and talked to them loud and long. 
For my lungs are good, and my voice is strong. 
So, good St. Peter, you’ll clearly see, 

The gates of Heaven is open to me. 

But my old man, I regret to say, 

Hasn’t walked in exactly the narrow way. 

He smokes and swears, grave faults he’s got, 


62 


And I don’t know whether he’ll pass or not, 

He never would pray with an earnest vim, 

Or go to revival, or join in a hymn. 

So I had to leave him in sorrow there, 

While I, with the chosen, united in prayer. 

He ate what the pantry chanced to afford, 

While I, in my purity, sang to the L,ord, 

And if cucumbers were all he got, 

It’s a chance if he merited them or not. 

But oh ! St. Peter, I love him so, 

To the pleasures of Heaven, please let him go, 
I’ve done enough, a saint I’ve been, 

Won’t that atone ? Can’t you let him in ? 

By my grim gospel I know ’tis so, 

That the unrepentant must fry below. 

But isn’t there some way you can see 
That he may enter who’s so dear to me? 

It’s a narrow gospel by which I pray, 

But the chosen expect to find some way, 

Of coaxing or bribing or fooling you, 

So that their relations may amble through. 

And say ! St. Peter it seems to me, 

That gate isn’t kept as it ought to he. 

You ought to stand right by the opening there 
And never sit down in that easy chair. 

And say ! St. Peter, my sight is dimmed, 

But I don’t like the way your whiskers are trim- 
They’re cut too wide, and outward toss; [med, 
They’d look better, narrow, cut straight across. 
Well ! we must be going our crowns to win, 

So open, St Peter, and we’ll pass in.” 

St. Peter sat silent and stroked his staff, 

But, spite of his office, he had to laugh, 

Then said with a fiery gleam in his eye, 

“Who’s tending this gateway, you or I ?” 


63 


And then he arose in his stature tall, 

And pressed a button upon the wall. 

And said to the imp who answered the bell: 
“Escort this female around to Hell.” 

The man stood still as a piece of stone, 

Stood sadly, gloomily there alone, 

A life long settled idea he had, 

That his wife was good and he was bad, 

He thought if the woman went down below, 

That he would certainly have to go. 

That if she went to the regions dim, 

There wasn’t a ghost of a show for him. 

Slowly he turned by habit bent, 

To follow wherever the woman went. 

St. Peter, standing on duty there, 

Observed that the top of his head was bare. 

He called the gentleman back and said, 

“Friend ! how long have you been wed?” 
“Thirty years” (with a weary sigh), 

And then he thoughtfully added, “Why?” 

St. Peter was silent, with head bent down, 

He raised his head and scratched his crown. 
Then, seeming a different thought to take, 
Slowly, half to himself, he spake, 

“Thirty years with that woman there ! 

No wonder the man hasn’t got any hair, 
Swearing is wicked, smoking’s not good. 

He smoked and swore, I should think he would. 
Thirty years with that tongue so sharp, 

Ho ! Angel Gabriel, give him a harp, 

A jeweled harp with a golden string, 

Good sir, pass in where the Angels sing, 
Gabriel, give him a seat alone, 

One with a cushion up near the throne, 


64 


Call up the angels to play their best, 

Ret him enjoy the music and rest, 

See that on finest Ambrosia he feeds, 

He’s had about all the Hell he needs, 

# 

It is’nt hardly the thing to do 

To roast him on earth and in the future too. 

They gave him a harp -with with golden strings, 

A glittering robe and a pair of wings, 

And he said as he entered the Realms of Day, 

“Well, this beats cucumbers, anyway,” 

And so the Scriptures had come to pass, 

The last shall be first, and the first shall be last. 

When I finished, my friend said, 

“That was very fine, Mr. Taylor, I enjoyed that very much. You smoke 
[good cigars too. My son is down town at the hotel looking over a line of 
cut glass, when he comes back, we’ll tslse great pleasure in looking over 
your line.” 

“I’ll have great pleasure in showing you, sir. By the way, I have 
another piece that you may find interesting.” 

At the end of the second piece, the son came in, and the first article the} 
picked out was a hunderd dollar brooch. I sold them a nice bill and today 
we are great friends. 


A conductor on one of the trains down in Maine is somewhat of a humor¬ 
ist. There is a little junction town down there called Burnham, and he 
goes through the cars shouting: 

‘ ‘Burnham, Burnham, change here for Belfast. Do not leave your par¬ 
ages, umbrellas or babies in the car. Burn ’em, Burn ’em.” 


65 


SOME PEOPLE WE MEET 


When I started travelling— not much more than a kid—I used to carry a 
big heavy log on my shoulder, willing to accommodate any one looking for 
trouble, it gradually dwindled into a chip, and today a strong microscope 
could’nt find an infinitesimal speck of sawdust there. 

Considering how some of us, as salesmen, worry some of the buyers, ii 
strikes me the average customer has a great deal better temper and greatei 
patience than the salesman who is supposed to have developed these to a 
marked degree. 

The wonder is, not that we meet with trouble, but that we run into so 
little of it. The most disagreeable incident I have met with happened in a 
little town in N. Y. State. I was selling Ingersoll watches those days, and 
had’nt been on the road long enough to get out of the card carrying habit. 1 
presented my card to a customer, who proved to be a man possessed of a very 
mean temperament. The first words he said were, 

“Well ! the last time you were through here you sold me a bill of stem- 
wind watches and shipped me key-wind.” 

The manner in which he said it was nasty and most offensive, and I 
replied, 

“Well! Mr. -I have’nt been in your store two minutes, and you’ve 

already made two bad breaks. In the first place, I was never in this town 
before, in the second we have a pretty decent crowd of fellows travelling for 
our firm, and it’9 a safe bet that you got whatever you ordered.” 

He replied that I was a liar, and I retorted that there was another one 
behind the counter, then he told me that I’d better get out. I replied, 

“I came in here as a gentleman, and I’ll get out when it suits m> 
convenience. I don’t like the scenery around here anyhow, and I think 1 
will get out.” 


66 




With that I picked up my sample ease and walked towards the door. As 
I stepped on to the sidewalk, I felt his hand touch my shoulder, a bare 
touch, but perhaps enough to make the clerk inside think that possibly he 
had helped me out. I turned around, but found he had slammed the door 
shut, and had his foot braced against it. I could’nt open it, so I kicked the 
bottom panel so hard that he thought I’d kick a hole in it, and he opened it 
about two inches. 

I told him I’d knock his head off, and getting no response I walked 
away, but the farther I walked the angrier I became. I remember it was a 
bitterly oold day, and I was hampered with a heavy overcoat. I took it off, 
left that with my sample case in another store, and walked back again. He 
was standing behind a counter where I could’nt get at him, so I said, 

* ‘Well ! sport, you seem to think you are somewhat of a scrapper, now I 
don’t suppose you want these show cases of yours mussed up, let’s go outside 
and settle this little affair.” 

He went out all right, but he ran up the street like a race horse, he w ; as 
after a policeman, but naturally, I was missing when he returned. 

One of the most peculiar remarks I have ever heard in connection with 
a sale was sprung on me in a little town in Alabama. As usual, I had called 
on the jeweler first with my watches, but he wanted to buy so small a quantity 
that I would’nt bother with him. I called on the druggist, hardware man, 
and stationer in turn, but neither of ’em seemed td like my personal appear¬ 
ance, so I finally went into a furniture store. When I stated my business, 
the furniture dealer replied, 

41 You must think I’m crazy to imagine I would sell dollar watches. I 
sell tables and chairs.” 

I came back at him with, 

“Partner, you probably think I’m crazier than you are for suggesting 
that you sell them, but if you travelled with me for a couple of days you’d 
fall all over your fool self in your hurry to buy ’em.” 

He listened just the proper length of time, and then said, 


6 7 


“Well ! you send along those three dozen watches and send ’em right 
away too.” 

“You seem to be in a hurry for them now,” I replied “half an hour age 
I could‘nt give ’em to you.” 

“That’s all right, old mau, since you’ve been talking about them blamed 
things, I’ve got the belly-ache for ’em, I’ve just got to have ’em now.” 

I’ve seen a success made of them in every oonceivable class of store, but 
with the bulky stuff he had I as a little doubtful as to whether he’d sell 
them or not, but I strongly impressed him with the fact that his success 
depended on the manner in which he displayed them, he had intelligence 
enough to do that properly, and next trip he bought a gross. 

I met a corset salesman last trip who related a little incident that had 
just occurred in one of the small Southern towns. He had tried to interest a 
crusty old fossil, the proprietor of a large store with little in it. 

I’ll give it to you in his own words. 

“The old son-of-a-gun said he would’nt take the corsets at a gift, told 
me he’d been in business forty years and had got along all right without my 
line, and guessed he could keep on getting along without ’em. I told him 
that if I’d been in business forty years and had no more to show for it than 
he had I’d never mention it to a living soul. ‘Furthermore,’ I said ‘For all 
I care you can stay in business forty years longer if you want to, and I’ll bei 
a dollar you’ll never have the chance to buy these corsets again.’ It tools 
all the wind out of the old chump, he was speechless, and I walked out.” 



68 







“Advice of Polonius to his son” 

“This above all—to thine own self be true; 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou can’st not then be false to any man.” 

— Hamlet. 






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